


She Blinded Me With Science

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Alchemy, F/F, Femslash, Immortality, Mad Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7608451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two hundred and fifty years ago, the woman who now calls herself Jillian Holtzmann unlocked the alchemical secret of immortality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Blinded Me With Science

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning in end notes.
> 
> I may write more of this universe at some point, or I may not. I'll have to wait and see.

** She Blinded Me With Science **

There have always been mad scientists of some description or another. They appear in tales throughout history, before science itself, back when the closest thing to science was magic, back before the stereotype of the modern mad scientist first began taking shape in the fever-dreams of Victorian gothic novelists – writers who drew their inspiration from contemporary news reports as well as earlier stories, stories of mythology and magic.

Mad with power, mad with curiosity, mad with the need for control over the uncontrollable fabric of the universe – it doesn’t really matter. Mad scientists stop at nothing to achieve their goals, to sate their burning need to _know_ , no matter what the cost. Even the most ordinary of scientists occasionally falls to that hubris, often to the detriment of those around them and, eventually, the scientists themselves. But mad scientists: they are dangerous, and very real.

Jillian Holtzmann – as she calls herself these days – knows that better than anyone. 

It’s been nearly ten years since Holtzmann turned up on Rebecca Gorin’s doorstep, her hair a drab shade of brown and cut in an unfashionable style, and said, “I need a favour.”

And Rebecca Gorin – Dr Rebecca Gorin now, for at least a couple of decades; Rebecca Gorin who had once loved her roommate, a brown-haired, eccentric genius with eyes that were too old for the rest of her face – looked at Holtzmann, still as young as the day they first met, and said, “Anything.”

So brown-haired Abigail Worthing had become blonde Jillian Holtzmann, had become a college student and incidentally, Dr Gorin’s protégé. The two of them had slipped into new roles where one was the mentor and one the mentee – a reversal of all those years ago when it was Rebecca taking notes from Abigail – and muddled along until the relationship settled, and became familiar enough that it stopped feeling jarring for Rebecca to call Abigail ‘Jillian’ and for Holtzmann to stop feeling off-balance at Dr Gorin being the knowledgeable one, this time around.

For Rebecca, Abigail will always be the one who got away. For Holtzmann…

Well. It’s not the first time she’s had to move on, let someone slip away into memory, the way she will eventually have to with Dr Gorin, and she knows it won’t be the last. It never is. At this point, Holtzmann has almost gotten used to it.

(That last part is a lie.)

* * *

Anyway, mad scientists. The thing is, Holtzmann – no matter what name or nationality – has always been one, in one way or another. She remembers when the science of the day was alchemy, when women were expected to be ladies, demure and well-behaved and damned insipid, when everyone told her that there was no way her lofty ambition to invent immortality could ever prosper, when Holtzmann was determined, no matter what the cost, to _succeed_.

Some days – these days – two hundred and fifty years on and counting, she regrets that determination, just a little.

Fortunately for her, true mad scientists are few and far between, despite the deep, enduring spark of _I must know_ that every scientist carries somewhere inside of them, and none of them have managed to actually end the world, yet. So at least life is interesting, even if it means going back to college every two or three decades when she starts over with a new identity. Technology and the power of bureaucracy is closing in fast, making it harder and harder to start a new life each time, but Holtzmann is confident of her ability to stay one step ahead. She _is_ a genius, after all.

This life is a particularly interesting one – Holtzmann has the funding to pursue her inventions, a field of scientific endeavour that has barely been explored, and – most unexpected of all – actual _friends_. Yes, they’re colleagues, but they’re friends all the same, from outspoken Abby (the first friend Holtzmann made in this life) to gregarious Patty to awkward Erin.

Erin. Now there’s a rarity: a problem Holtzmann doesn’t know how to solve.

Holtzmann has always been better with her inventions than with people: to be honest, Holtzmann stopped even pretending to give a shit what other people thought about a century ago, so that fact doesn’t really bother her anymore, the way it did when she was young. But every now and again it comes back to bite her on the ass, and Erin is definitely a good example of that.

Erin is awkward, overly-dependent on other people’s validation of her life choices, and she dresses like… hell, Holtzmann doesn’t even know: she’d say a female professor from the 1950s, except that Holtzmann had _been_ a professor in the 1950s, and known of a couple of others, and none of them dressed like that (they wore pant suits and waistcoats, mainly, despite the disapprobation of the general public).

And yet, Erin is also brilliant, and despite the layers of self-doubt and the craving for other people’s approval, at her core she is _strong_. Strong enough to pick herself up and keep going no matter what life throws at her, whether it’s a disapproving college Dean with a pink slip or an ectoplasm-spewing ghost with a grudge. She’s unself-conscious and oddly gorgeous even in her unfashionable suits and the world’s tiniest bowtie, and Holtzmann… doesn’t quite know what to do about that.

Well. Instinct tells her to bang Erin like a drum, but there are things like respect and liking involved, not to mention the complex relationship between Erin and Abby (Erin’s closest friend) which complicates the entire affair. Holtzmann doesn’t know what to do when it’s more than pants-feelings involved, because much as she’d like a certain steadiness, an anchor in her life, sooner or later she has to leave everything, and _everyone_ , behind. It takes some of the shine off the idea of become attached.

Holtzmann is pretty sure she’s gotten attached anyway though, is the damned thing. And the heartbreak of leaving or seeing someone eventually die is such a drag.

* * *

Life goes on.

They research and build things and go out and hunt ghosts, and hang out at headquarters when they don’t have anything else to do. Holtzmann tends to be there early in the morning until late at night, and the others have gotten used to that, gotten used to coming in sometimes even on weekends or in the evening when they’re bored and want someone to hang out with. Holtzmann is usually busy, but she’s willing to either chat while she works or turn the music up and dance, and that’s enough to lure the others in. Holtzmann is used to it with Abby, that sense of easy comraderie, but with Erin and Patty it’s still new and a little tentative.

They’re all there one night, eating takeout and/or poring over old books, looking for information that might help their current case, when Patty suddenly makes a strangled noise and says, “What the _hell?_ ”

“What?” Erin asks, frowning. “What is it?”

Abby and Holtzmann look up; Abby from her book, Holtzmann from her noodle box.

“Patty?” Abby asks.

“Holtzy,” Patty says slowly and carefully, “you weren’t a nineteenth century inventor, were you?”

“What?” Abby asks, baffled, but Holtzmann’s heart skips a beat.

“What are you talking about?” Holtzmann asks.

Patty holds up the book in answer, so that they can all see what’s on the page: a black-and-white photograph of a woman in Victorian clothing, her hair tied back in the style of the times, standing next to a complicated-looking machine she'd built.

The woman in the photograph has Holtzmann’s face.

“ _What?_ ” Abby yelps, leaning in for a better look. “Holy crap, that’s a good likeness!”

“It looks just like you,” Erin says, studying the photograph, and on the inside, Holtzmann experiences a flare of panic – real, genuine panic, of a kind she hasn’t experienced since Rowan pulled Abby down with him into the vortex, months ago, before Erin dived in after her and Holtzmann and Patty yanked them both out again – at the reminder that these women are _scientists_.

And like all scientists, they have the Need To Know.

But nothing shows on Holtzmann’s face as looks at the photograph and says, “Huh. You’re right. That is weird.”

“Who is she?” Abby asks, and Patty turns the book around again to take another look at the page.

“Uh, Marceline Bonneau,” Patty reads aloud.

“I don’t suppose you were around inventing things two hundred years ago?” Erin says with a laugh, clearly teasing.

But Holtzmann can’t help tensing, Erin’s words hitting too close to the mark, and the others all notice.

“Holtzy, you okay over there?” Patty asks, and Holtzmann doesn’t need to imagine what it would look like to see her expression twist from concern into fear and revulsion. After all, she’s seen it happen before – not with Patty, but with others Holtzmann made the mistake of trusting.

“Fine,” Holtzmann says, putting down her noodle box. “I might just… go to the bathroom for a minute.”

She stands as though to leave, but Erin puts out a hand, placing it on Holtzmann’s arm, and says, “Holtz?”

Holtzmann feels her face twist without meaning to.

“Oh Christ,” says Abby, who knows Holtzmann better than anyone alive, Dr Gorin excepted. “Holtzmann, is that really you in this photograph?”

Holtzmann breaks out of Erin’s grip and runs for the door.

The others are slow to respond, except for Abby, who throws herself out of her chair, bellowing, “Stop! Holtzmann!”

But Holtzmann is already sliding down the old fireman’s pole, her feet slamming into the ground; she’s running almost as soon as there’s traction.

“Holtzmann, wait!” Abby shouts. “ _Jillian!_ ”

But Holtzmann is grabbing her gym bag from where it always sits beside the front door, and a moment later is out of the building, gaining speed with every step.

She’s already planning it inside her head, where to go, what to do next: she’s prepared for this contingency, with everything she needs either in the gym bag, or in a hired locker not far from Grand Central Station. All she has to do is get there, grab everything she needs to set up her new identity, and get the hell out of New York. Simple.

But there’s a sudden ungodly wailing somewhere behind Holtzmann, one she recognises all too well, and she realises that it’s not going to be that easy. Holtzmann doesn’t waste any effort on cursing. It’ll only shorten her breath and slow her down. Instead she puts on speed.

It doesn’t do her any good. The siren grows louder, and louder, and the next moment the Ghostbusters’ car is alongside.

“Holtzmann!” Abby yells out the window. “Stop running!”

Holtzmann, in answer, ducks into an alley that’s too narrow for the car to follow.

There’s a squeal of brakes, followed by the cessation of the siren, and the sound of several car doors slamming. Holtzmann finds herself staring at a dead end, and turns, slowly, as she hears three different pairs of footsteps entering the alley.

Abby and Erin and Patty are staring at her. Erin and Patty look confused and concerned, but Abby… there’s a mixture of worry and understanding on Abby’s face that is enough to undo Holtzmann.

She sinks to her knees, out of breath from all the running despite the laps she runs every day, and only stares helplessly as they approach.

The other Ghostbusters stop several feet away, regarding Holtzmann like a… like a feral cat, she thinks, half-hysterically, a feral cat that might lash out at any moment.

“Jillian,” Abby says, her voice soft. “It’s you in the picture, isn’t it?”

Holtzmann laughs, wild and frenzied.

“You’d think after two hundred and fifty years of this, I’d have the sense to stay out of portraits and photographs,” she says, the laughter clawing its way out of her throat. Erin and Patty look worried, now, but Abby is looking at Holtzmann with an expression of deep compassion that Holtzmann almost can’t stand.

“How is this possible?” Erin asks. “People don’t live two hundred and fifty years. Especially not without aging.”

“I do,” says Holtzmann, because she might as well tell the truth, now it’s all come undone, her life unravelling in front of her. “I was an alchemist. They all told me that I’d never uncover the secret to immortality. They were wrong.”

“Alchemy?” Patty asks. “You mean like Nicholas Flamel? Paracelsus? Those guys?” 

“Exactly,” says Holtzmann, and laughs again. 

It isn’t until she feels wetness on her cheeks that she realises she’s crying.

“What are you going to do to me?” Holtzmann asks, because she can’t stand the suspense any longer. “Turn me over to a government lab somewhere? Study me yourselves? Go for full disclosure and tell the public that alchemy worked and immortality is actually a thing?”

“ _Holtzy_ ,” says Patty, sounding hurt and shocked.

“Holtzmann…” Abby says, and then trails off. “Wait, is that even your real name? Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. _Jillian_ …”

“We’re not going to do anything,” says Erin, crouching down beside Holtzmann, who’s still kneeling on the filthy ground of the alley. Her eyes are soft and filled with an emotion that Holtzmann can’t identify. “You’re our friend. Why would you think we’d do anything to you?”

“Oh, man,” says Patty, her voice deeply pained. “We’re not the first people to have found out, are we?”

Holtzmann hunches a little at the reminder of the ones who turned on her, when they discovered her immortality.

“Oh, Holtz,” says Erin, and leans forward to wrap Holtzmann in a hug.

“I’m a mad scientist,” Holtzmann says, the words spilling out of her. “I pushed, I have always pushed, against the boundaries of what humankind was Meant To Know. I pursue impossible dreams and test preposterous hypotheses, and I never give up. Don’t you understand? I’m dangerous.”

There’s a long silence, while Holtzmann stares at her hands, which are resting on her knees. Patty breaks the silence.

“Well, shit, Holtzy, we all knew that. Didn’t I tell you, you scare me?”

“You scare all of us sometimes,” Erin adds. “But you’re still our friend. Really.”

Erin attempts a smile, but it falls flat under the strain.

Holtzmann stares at her, their faces so close, and thinks _what the hell_. She’s already doomed anyway.

So she curls a hand around the back of Erin’s neck and before Erin can do more than begin with “What are you–” Holtzmann pulls her into a kiss.

Erin is stiff and startled for a moment, but then, just as Holtzmann is about to pull away again, Erin’s grip on her abruptly tightens and Erin is kissing her back, _enthusiastically_.

It’s Holtzmann who finally pulls away, dazed and confused beyond all measure.

“Please don’t run away,” Erin says softly, putting a hand to Holtzmann’s cheek. “You’re one of us. We need you.”

Holtzmann looks at Patty and Abby. Neither of them look like they’re about to condemn her to a fate worse than death.

Slowly, Holtzmann begins to hope, just a little.

“Not going to study me? Try and pry the secrets of immortality out of me?” she says.

“Honestly, I think we’re better off not knowing,” says Abby.

“Besides, we all know it’d be the wealthy assholes who’d end up with immortality anyway, and I don’t want to contribute to the creation of a society run by immortal old men,” Erin says, her tone reasonable. “It’s bad enough as it is.”

“Not to mention that if people didn’t die, society would stagnate,” Patty adds her two cents. “No one would develop new ideas or ways of doing things. And then there’s the population problem.”

“I don’t know, I seem to have done okay,” Holtzmann says. She can feel herself relaxing, and suddenly feels very tired. That would be the emotional rollercoaster she’s just been on, probably.

“Yeah, well, you’re the exception to everything,” Patty says, and Holtzmann laughs – not the wilder laugh of before, but something quieter, and genuinely amused.

“So we’re cool? You’re not going to dissect me while I sleep?” Holtzmann asks.

“I don’t know where you sleep,” Erin says.

“I do,” says Abby. “But I wouldn’t do that.”

And finally, Holtzmann thinks that maybe she’s starting to believe them.

“Prove it,” she says, and sees them smile in relief as they realise that she’s going to give them the chance to do so, instead of just making a run for it.

“Come on,” says Erin, brushing a strand of Holtzmann’s hair away from her face. “Let’s go back to headquarters, and you can describe all the ridiculous fashions people wore in your alchemist days.”

Holtzmann grabs her hand, and squeezes it gently.

“I’ll draw diagrams,” Holtzmann promises, and smiles, the expression shaky but real.

* * *

The wonder of it is that things don’t really change, after that.

Oh, the others shoot her weird looks for a while, and Abby makes jokes about Holtzmann’s age, and Patty outright asks all the historical questions that have clearly been bugging her since she found out the truth, questions which Holtzmann answers with more honesty than she knew she was capable of. But things don’t really _change_. The three of them still have the same dynamic that they had before: it’s just that now they all know Holtzmann is several centuries old.

The only relationship that changes is the one between Holtzmann and Erin.

“We should probably talk about the kissing thing,” Erin says, the day after she finds out Holtzmann is immortal. She’s smiling, but there’s a certain nervousness about it, like she’s expecting Holtzmann to bolt and run any minute. (The worst part is, she’s not wrong to be worried about that. Holtzmann is allergic to feelings, okay?)

Holtzmann’s hands still, where they’re in the middle of joining two pieces of piping together.

“We kissed. What is there to talk about?” Holtzmann says, her voice deliberately steady, and doesn’t look up from her work.

“Well. Quite a lot, don’t you think?” Erin suggests, walking forward, closing the distance between them. Holtzmann watches her out of her peripheral vision.

“You’re going to grow old, and one day you’ll die. I won’t,” Holtzmann says, and her voice is still steady, but her hands are shaking. She clenches them into fits to hide the minute tremors. “I don’t think there’s really much there worth talking about.”

“Really?” 

Erin is watching Holtzmann’s face, but she knows Holtzmann too well, because then her gaze drops to Holtzmann’s hands. When did Erin get to know Holtzmann well enough to be aware of her tells?

“Because it sounds to me like you have a lot of issues there,” Erin continues. “Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for bottling things up as long as you can, but… I don’t think we can put the genie back in the bottle, Holtz.”

Holtzmann stares at the bits of piping in front of her.

“I thought you liked Kevin.”

“I’m wildly attracted to Kevin,” Erin agrees. “But, I’m going to be honest here, my appreciation of him is pretty much skin-deep.” She takes another step forward, until she’s standing right up against the workbench. She reaches out, rests a hand on top of Holtzmann’s, and Holtzmann finally looks up, meets Erin’s eyes.

“What I feel for you, on the other hand, goes a lot deeper than that,” says Erin, and Holtzmann doesn’t know what to say.

“I–” says Holtzmann, her voice uneven, and stops. “I don’t want to have to see you die one day, Erin.” It’s probably the wrong thing to say, Holtzmann knows that, but it’s the truth.

“That’s a long time away. Hopefully,” Erin adds, making a face. “Barring accidents or unusual incidents, of course.”

Holtzmann opens her mouth, and shuts it again. She still doesn’t know what to say.

“Come on,” says Erin, and she’s smiling the tiniest bit. “You’ve been flirting with me all this time, and now I tell you I’m interested, you’re going to run away?”

“I,” says Holtzmann. “Um. Yes. In the interests of, um, self-preservation.”

“Isn’t that my line?” Erin says, and Holtzmann can’t help smiling slightly, a quirk of the lips that’s there and gone again. 

Erin spots it anyway, and her own smile grows a little bigger at the encouragement.

“Seriously,” Erin says. “I like you, Holtzmann. Can’t you just give us a chance?”

Holtzmann looks at her for a long moment. Then:

“I dated Rebecca Gorin. For a while.”

“Wait, Dr Gorin? Your mentor?” Erin looks confused.

“She wasn’t always my mentor.” Holtzmann glances away. “When Rebecca was young, I was her roommate. We had a… a thing. For a while.”

“What happened?” Erin looks nothing but sympathetic.

“I moved on,” says Holtzmann. “The way I always do. I can’t stay in one identity too long, in case…”

“In case someone catches on,” Erin finishes, and she looks sad. 

Holtzmann nods.

“Sooner or later I’ll have to move on. Even from you guys.”

Erin takes a deep breath.

“Well, then.. . don’t you think we should take advantage of what time we do have?” She looks determined. “I mean, why not embrace what you’ve got for as long as you’ve got it? It doesn’t make sense to reject something because you won’t have it forever. Nothing lasts forever, but that doesn’t mean it’s not an experience worth having. At least, that’s what I think.”

Holtzmann looks at Erin for a long while. Erin doesn’t back down.

“Okay,” Holtzmann says.

“Okay?” Erin repeats, her expression confused, then suddenly hopeful. “Wait, you agree?”

“I agree,” Holtzmann confirms.

“So what, we’re dating now?”

“Definitely,” says Holtzmann, and in spite of everything, despite knowing that getting together with Erin means eventually losing her, Holtzmann can’t help smiling. “Come here.”

Erin walks around to Holtzmann’s side of the workbench, and Holtzmann takes off her work gloves, and pulls Erin into a kiss.

Erin is right. Holtzmann might lose everything eventually, but… she might as well keep it all for as long as she can. And Erin is definitely one of the things she’d like to hold onto.

“I’m so glad you didn’t run away, that night,” Erin says, when they part for air. “I was afraid that I’d never see you again.”

Holtzmann’s mouth quirks.

“Well, I’m here,” she says. The _for as long as I can be_ goes unsaid. 

* * *

“So, Holtzy. How old are you really?” Patty asks one day.

Holtzmann, who is grooving along to Devo, is asked this in the middle of cracking an imaginary whip while mouthing ‘whip it good’ in time with the music. She’s caught a little off balance.

“Never ask a lady her age,” she says.

“No, for real, how old are you?” Patty asks. “Besides, since when are you a lady?”

Holtzmann bites her lip for a second, considers the question.

“You’re right, I was always too much of a bluestocking to be a respectable lady, even if my grandfather hadn’t been in trade.”

“What’s a bluestocking?” asks Erin.

“Come on, don’t you know your history?” Patty asks. “Bluestockings were women who were educated, or who wanted to be. It was considered kind of a derogatory term, because women weren’t supposed to know about things like science or philosophy or–”

“Or alchemy,” Holtzmann butts in, and starts humming along to the music as an Erasure song comes on.

“Right,” says Patty. “Basically, they were women like us, who wanted to pursue knowledgeable pursuits.”

“Oh,” says Erin. She looks at Holtzmann. “Wait. If women weren’t supposed to know about these things, how did you…?”

“End up an alchemist?” Holtzmann grins. “My uncle was an alchemist, and he raised me. He always treated me more like a boy than a girl, encouraging me to behave more like a man than a lady – it was terribly scandalous at the time. But I was wealthy enough from my inheritance that people tolerated me, even with the trade connection and the unladylike behaviour. Not the cream of society, of course, with their high standards, but a lot of people. It’s amazing what you can get away with when you have money.”

“So it was a family tradition?” Abby asks. “Alchemy, I mean.”

Holtzmann nods.

“My father’s family were always considered… eccentric. They were always involved in the occult, believing that was the best way to further their knowledge of the universe – not that anyone could prove it. Alchemy was a logical extension of that drive to discover new things.”

“So basically, what we’re doing here, as the Ghostbusters, is like a modern extension of what your family have always done,” Abby muses.

Holtzmann’s never really put it into so many words, and she’s surprised to realise that Abby is right.

“What can I say, I come by the mad scientist thing honestly,” she says.

“Why do you keep using that phrase, ‘mad scientist?’” Erin says, with a frown. “You’ve used it before.”

“Because mad scientists are real,” Holtzmann says at once. “You think I’m the only one who pushes science to its limits? There have always been people who have gone too far, or skirted the edges of what humankind is meant to know – who go far beyond what’s ethical or safe. They became witches and warlocks in the age of magic, then alchemists in the age of proto-science, then actual scientists in the modern era. But they’ve always been around.”

“And you think you’re a mad scientist.” Erin’s statement is not a question.

Holtzmann grins at her.

“I pushed the boundaries further than anyone before me. No one’s ever replicated my results, and for good reason. What I did could have destroyed the world, but I didn’t care about the consequences.”

“But you care about them now, don’t you?” asks Abby, sounding a little worried.

Holtzmann shrugs.

“Not destroying the world is a little more important when you’re going to be stuck in it forever.”

“How does your immortality actually work?” Erin asks. “Is it just eternal youth, or does it include healing, or…?”

This is skirting dangerously close to territory that Holtzmann does not want to discuss, ever, but there’s no avaricious gleam in Erin’s eyes – only open, honest curiosity. Patty and Abby’s expression are much the same.

So Holtzmann answers, but carefully.

“I just don’t die,” she says. “If I’m injured, I’m lucky enough to heal fairly soon afterwards, and I don’t age, but… mostly, I just don’t die.”

“You’ve tested this, haven’t you.” Abby’s tone is flat.

Holtzmann smiles at her.

“Would I be a true scientist if I hadn’t?”

“ _Holtz_ ,” Erin looks distressed, understanding the implications immediately. “You tried to _kill_ yourself?”

“Not really. I was like, eighty-seven percent certain it wouldn’t work,” Holtzmann defends herself. The others still look horrified. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“That’s not the point!” Erin exclaims. Holtzmann realises that Erin is genuinely upset.

“Holtzy, that kind of mindset isn’t healthy,” Patty says, looking concerned. “I mean, I’m all for science, but–”

“I told you I was a mad scientist,” Holtzmann argues.

“Yeah, we get that,” says Abby. “Just… don’t conduct any more experiments like that in the future, okay?”

“I’ve already run through multiple scenarios, there aren’t many I left untested,” Holtzmann says, which is the closest she’ll come to agreement. She doesn’t tell them that the ‘tests’ weren’t always under scientific conditions, nor always her idea. People aren’t always kind to Holtzmann, even if her friends and girlfriend are different that way.

The tests of Holtzmann’s immortality sometimes haven’t been voluntary, is the point. Holtzmann doesn’t think her friends and girlfriend need to know that.

“Well, please don’t test any more,” says Erin, still looking upset.

“Fine.” Holtzmann sighs, and hopes that circumstance won’t make a liar of her. “I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“Really, though,” Patty says. “How old are you? Like exactly.”

Holtzmann just smiles, and goes back to humming along with the music.

* * *

One day, because she knows Erin and her friends will appreciate it, she goes to her bank, and pays visit to her safety deposit box.

She arrives a little late for work that morning, something which is almost unheard of, and the others immediately ask if she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” says Holtzmann, and opens the archival box, so that they can see the photo albums. She has a current photo album at home, with paraphernalia from this life – photos of her and Dr Gorin, photos of her and Abby from their institute days, newspaper clippings and photos of the Ghostbusters, both at work and hanging out together – but these albums are older. They belong to other lives, ones which on paper, Jillian Holtzmann has only tangential connections with.

“Are those photo albums?” Erin cranes her head to get a better look.

“Yeah,” Holtzmann agrees. “They’re photos from my other identities. I thought you guys would like to see them. Just be careful – some of this stuff is really old. I’m thinking of scanning some of it and burning it to DVD, maybe taking photos of some of the stuff that’s too delicate to scan.”

“Let me see,” says Abby.

“Hold up,” says Patty. “Shouldn’t we be wearing gloves, or something?”

Holtzmann nods, and gets the cotton gloves out of her bag.

“Put these on if you want to touch anything,” she says, and Erin and Abby immediately go for the cotton gloves, slipping them on and taking one of the photo albums out of the box.

“ _Careful_ ,” Holtzmann warns, because these albums are all she has left of people and things that were once dear to her.

Erin and Abby lay a photo album out on Abby’s desk, and they open the brittle leather cover with care, while Patty puts on a pair of gloves herself.

“Oh my God,” says Abby, staring down at the first photograph, while Erin tries to hide a smile. “Was that hairstyle actually fashionable?”

Holtzmann leans over to get a look.

“It was considered very dashing,” she says.

“Let me see,” says Patty, crowding in behind Erin and Abby, looking over their shoulders. “Wow. That is. Uh. That is sure something, right there.”

Holtzmann smiles at their mirth.

Over the next couple of hours Erin and Abby and Patty look through the albums, commenting on the various fashions and inventions and people Holtzmann has been photographed with. When they’re done, they help her scan or photograph each page, before Holtzmann saves all the images and scans to some DVDs.

When she takes the archival box of albums back to the bank to go back in her safety deposit box, she takes the DVDs as well.

As Holtzmann carefully puts everything back in the safety deposit box, she reflects on how lucky she is to have had two identities in a row in which she has found trustworthy people – first as Abigail Worthing, finding Rebecca, then as Jillian Holtzmann, finding Abby and then Erin and Patty.

As Holtzmann closes the safety deposit box, archival box stored back inside it, she smiles a little, before heading for the nearest subway stop. 

She has the other Ghostbusters to get back to. They have science to be getting on with.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: mentions of self-harm/attempted suicide in order to test the extent of immortality


End file.
